A tedious task, indeed. But Iris paused, backtracking to stand at Roman’s cubicle.
“Do you want to grab a sandwich?” she asked, hardly aware of the words spilling from her mouth. All she knew was she hadn’t eaten that day, and she was hungry for food and a stirring conversation with someone. Even if it was him. “There’s a delicatessen two doors down that stays open this late. They have the best pickles.”
Roman didn’t even slow his typing. “I can’t. Sorry.”
Iris nodded and hurried on her way. She was ridiculous for even thinking he’d want to share dinner with her.
She left with bright eyes, hurling her broken heel into the dustbin on her way out.
{2}
Words for Forest
It was a good thing Roman had turned her down for a sandwich.
Iris stopped by a corner grocer, feeling how light her handbag was. She didn’t realize she had stepped into one of Oath’s enchanted buildings until the food on the shelves began to shift. Only items she could afford worked their way to the edge, vying for her attention.
Iris stood in the aisle, face burning. She gritted her teeth as she noticed how much she couldn’t afford and then hastily grabbed a loaf of bread and a half carton of boiled eggs, hoping the shop would now leave her alone and cease weighing the coins in her purse.
This was why she was wary of enchanted buildings in the city. They could have pleasant perks, but they could also be nosy and unpredictable. She made a habit of avoiding unfamiliar ones, even if they were few and far between.
Iris hurried to the counter to pay, suddenly noticing the rows of empty shelves. Only a few cans remained behind—corn and beans and pickled onions.
“I take it your shop has been overly keen to sell tinned vegetables lately?” she asked dryly as she paid the grocer.
“Not quite. Things are being shipped west, to the front,” he said. “My daughter is fighting for Enva and I want to make sure her company has enough food. It’s hard work, feeding an army.”
Iris blinked, surprised by his reply. “Did the chancellor order you to send aid?”
He snorted. “No. Chancellor Verlice won’t declare war on Dacre until the god is knocking on our door, although he tries to make it appear like we’re supportive of our brothers and sisters fighting in the west.” The grocer set the loaf and eggs into a brown bag, sliding it across the counter.
Iris thought he was brave to make those statements. First, that their chancellor in the east was either a coward or a Dacre sympathizer. Second, to tell her which god his daughter was fighting for. She had learned this herself when it came to Forest. There were plenty of people in Oath who supported Enva and her recruitment and thought the soldiers courageous, but there were others who didn’t. Those individuals, however, tended to be the ones who regarded the war as something that would never affect them. Or they were people who worshipped and supported Dacre.
“I hope your daughter remains safe and well at the front,” Iris said to the grocer. She was glad to leave the nosy shop behind, only to slip on a wet newspaper in the street.
“Haven’t you had enough of me for one day?” she growled as she bent to retrieve it, assuming the paper was the Gazette.
It wasn’t.
Iris’s eyes widened when she recognized the inkwell and quill emblem of the Inkridden Tribune—the Gazette’s rival. There were five different newspapers scattered throughout Oath, but the Gazette and the Tribune were the oldest and most widely read. And if Zeb happened to catch sight of her with the competition in her hands, he would surely give the promotion to Roman.
She studied the front page, curious.
MONSTERS SIGHTED THIRTY KILOMETERS FROM THE WAR FRONT, the headline announced in smudged type. Beneath it was an illustration of a creature with large, membranous wings, two spindly legs hooked with talons, and a horde of sharp, needlelike teeth. Iris shivered, straining to read the words, but they were indecipherable, melting into streaks of ink.
She stared at the paper for a moment longer, frozen on the street corner. Rain dripped from her chin, falling like tears onto the monstrous illustration.
Creatures like this didn’t exist anymore. Not since the gods had been defeated centuries ago. But, of course, if Dacre and Enva had returned, so could the creatures of old. Creatures that had long only lived in myths.
Iris moved to drop the disintegrating paper in the rubbish bin but then was pierced by a cold thought.
Is this why so many soldiers are going missing at the front? Because Dacre is fighting with monsters?
She needed to know. And she carefully folded the Inkridden Tribune and slipped it into her inner coat pocket.
It took longer than she would’ve liked in the rain, especially without proper shoes, but Oath was not a simple place to travel by foot. The city was ancient, built centuries ago on the grave of a conquered god. Its streets meandered like a serpent’s path—some were hard-packed dirt and narrow, others wide and paved, and a few were haunted by trickles of magic. New construction had bloomed during the past few decades, though, and it was sometimes jarring to Iris to see the brick buildings and shining windows adjacent to the thatched roofs, crumbling parapets, and castle towers of a forgotten era. To watch trams navigate the ancient, twisting streets. As if the present was trying to cobble over the past.
An hour later, Iris finally reached her flat, sore for breath and drenched from the rain.
She lived with her mother on the second floor, and Iris paused at the door, uncertain what would greet her.
It was just as she expected.
Aster was reclining on the sofa wrapped in her favorite purple coat, a cigarette smoldering between her fingers. Empty bottles were strewn across the living room. The electricity was out, as it had been for weeks now. A few candles were lit on the sideboard and had been burning so long the wax had carved a way free, puddling on the wood.
Iris merely stood on the threshold and stared at her mother until the world around them both seemed to blur.
“Little Flower,” Aster said in a drunken lilt, finally noticing her. “You’ve come home at last to see me.”
Iris inhaled sharply. She wanted to unleash a torrent of words. Words that tasted bitter, but then she noticed the silence. The roaring, terrible silence, and how the smoke curled within it, and she couldn’t help herself. She glanced at the sideboard, where the candles flickered, and noticed what was missing.
“Where’s the radio, Mum?”
Her mother arched her brow. “The radio? Oh, I sold it, honey.”
Iris felt her heart plummet, down to her sore feet. “Why? That was Nan’s radio.”
“It could hardly pick up a channel, sweetheart. It was time for it to go.”